


Mollywatch: Rise of the Mollywatch

by Laura_Laplace



Series: Mollywatch [1]
Category: overwatch
Genre: F/M, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 20:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7947337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura_Laplace/pseuds/Laura_Laplace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Overwatch hires a new agent who moonlights as a camgirl, the entire group begins to let their hormones go to their heads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mollywatch: Rise of the Mollywatch

**Author's Note:**

> Featuring tumblr's Mirthfulmollywhop, specifically her camgirl Watchsona (Pretty Havoc, who can be found here: http://mirthfulmollywhop.tumblr.com/post/146443974371/i-put-more-effort-into-this-than-i-wanted-to-but) this is a fun little series to write. Hope you like it!

There were… _better_ things to be doing with one’s day than being locked in a small room alone with a known terrorist. 

For Molly, that list was long; so much had happened for her recently that actually figuring out a way to properly divide her attention between it all was a challenge in itself. She had her blog, obviously, and filming for that always felt good; there was a closet full of lingerie, a webcam, and a drawer of vibrators back home just begging for her attention… as was her audience, she was sure. And of course, there was Overwatch, her newfound day job, the little dream-come-true that she had lucked into thanks to a particularly ingenious customer from her night gig, an anonymous benefactor who, upon seeing Molly naked, had opted to clothe her. 

And what clothing it had turned out to be…

Skimpy pink splendor dominated Molly’s pale body, patterned with curving black accents and plenty of space for her sexy side to come through. A plunging neckline and short shorts, held together by a single belt, Molly’s modesty remaining intact only by the structural integrity of a buckle stamped with a big pink heart. That on its own would have been fine by her, but the elevated heels of the boots that had come with the suit contained… some kind of thing meant to increase her speed, a click of her heels enough to send her racing off at breakneck pace, so that all anyone could see of her was a pastel blur, a chaos of limbs and whooping, dodging and waving between bullets, merely suggestive of the bare legs and attractive cleavage that Molly displayed so proudly when standing still. 

It was, in every sense, perfect for her. 

But it was the visor and gloves that really made the outfit, the best accessories that Molly had ever owned, transforming her from a speedy weirdo with more fetishes than sense into a true battlefield force. The visor, a length of curved, lilac-tinted glass, covered her eyes and attached to a winged headband that held back the tresses of dark hair that threatened to spill out over her face in the middle of combat; together, they formed a device that fed Molly a constant stream of data, expanding the scope of her understanding of any battlefield she happened to be on (and, conveniently for her nights in front of a webcam, allowed her to record live video into the seemingly endless expanses of her headband’s nanometer-thin hard-drive.) It had taken her some time to get used to the flood of information right next to her eyes, and even longer to figure out how to tweak the settings on the visor so as to keep her lines of sight clean, but once Molly had gotten the hang of it, she couldn’t have imagined going into battle without it. 

And the gloves? Well, the gloves were her weapons. 

All this had began, what seemed like forever ago but was in actuality merely a few months, with an idle thought, expressed in the early moments of a cam-show: the second Omnic crisis was in full swing, and Molly wished that she could help those whose lives had been decimated by it. As a concept it had been vague and ill-thought out, a charitable impulse given voice without heed to the practicalities of it. When her gloves had come in the mail, Molly hadn’t even been aware of their functions prior to leafing through the manual that had come along with them, which had led to a few wacky mishaps and a broken window, and even now she didn’t truly understand how they worked… but then, she didn’t really have to, did she? All she really needed was a catchy nickname for them and knowledge of how to fire them. 

She called what they did Good Touch, and Bad Touch. 

The technology behind them escaped her- something to do with magnets, and, well… how did they work?- but Molly’s understanding of their function was now all but comprehensive: Good Touch was very very Good, and Bad Touch was… actually kinda good too in certain situations, if you happened to be wired so that a little bit of consensual Bad felt pretty Good. Say, if you happened to have a webcam and a paying audience happy to watch any kind of Touch, so long as you ended up Touching yourself. It was a kind of versatility that Molly particularly appreciated, though obviously being Touched in a fight allowed her to really strut her stuff: Good Touch was like a shot of adrenaline right to the heart, pure stimulation that prompted wounds to heal, bodies to perform better, and attacks to do more damage. Exactly what she needed as a supporter, to give aid to those in need. 

Bad Touch also used electricity, but its results were much closer to the classic consequences of exposure to such voltage. Good thing Molly could turn down the intensity of she needed to…

Using these tools, Molly had firmly acquitted herself in the Overwatch, and even as new as she was, her suit allowed her to stand side-by-side with her newfound allies… at least, when everything was working properly. 

… Which leads us to her current situation, trapped in the midst of a warzone, with one of the most feared terrorists known to the world. Trapped in a room with The Reaper. 

Perhaps it hadn’t been an accident, she reflected, as the black-clad figure stepped further into the room, the heavy steel doors behind him firmly closed, that her gloves had ceased working the moment Molly had laid eyes upon Reaper from across the battlefield, the moment he had seen her, and she had raised her hand to give him a taste of the Bad Touch, only to have the aperture on her palm fizzle and spark pathetically. Perhaps, Molly ruminated further, ducking into this abandoned building in plain sight to figure out what had gone wrong had been a bad idea; cornering herself in an enclosed space right after demonstrating herself to be unarmed hadn’t been the best example of tactical thinking Molly had ever displayed. 

As if to confirm just how badly she had screwed up, Reaper turned momentarily and, grunting with exertion, twisted the metal handles of the doors around one another, into an inescapable knot. Molly wasn’t going anywhere. 

The trouble was, there was little in the room they had both entered that would be of any use to her; no stairs leading up, no furniture to put between them, just bare concrete walls and the rusted over remains of an old electrical generator, hinting that this place had been left abandoned long ago. Molly cast her eyes about the room, desperation mounting, finding an unfortunate lack of ground floor windows to dramatically dive out of that left her, essentially, sealed in with nowhere to go. Even if she could get around Reaper she couldn’t prise the door open in time… and frankly, Molly didn’t like her chances of outrunning a shotgun blast anyway. 

Looking down those thick black barrels was one of the most terrifying things Molly had ever experienced, the knowledge that no amount of lateral movement would take her out of the blast radius at this range filling her with a quiet, cold dread. Cowed at being downrange, Molly forced her hands to stay at her side, relying on both the short range nature of his weapons, and Reaper’s own predilection for gloating, to draw him closer before he did anything to her. She counted each step as it echoed on the cold concrete, tentative hope blossoming in her chest as Molly readied herself, the muscles in her legs growing taut in preparation, until…

Molly kicked out high, her foot catching against one of those heavy shotguns and knocking it out of Reaper’s hand, before she jerked her leg downward, sweeping the other out of his grip in the same moment. She grinned, for all of three seconds, before the black-clad man swept forward with a guttural growl, surrounded by fulminating wisps of black fog, the weight of his body bringing her squealing to the floor, the unyielding surface beneath her knocking the air from her lungs. Face-to-face with that bone white mask, Molly couldn’t help the shiver of horror that swept down her spine, but this was undercut by her reaction to the sensation of the wraith’s gloved hand around her throat, squeezing just hard enough to… to…

Just hard enough to make her moan. 

Eyes widening with the realization of what she had just done, Molly blushed furiously. It had been a reflex action, nothing more, and her eyes attempted to convey that thought through the shocked silence that followed, before seeing that, in fact, Reaper was looking at something else entirely. His hand was still at her throat, and Molly’s breathing picked up at the pressure of it, but his gaze- at least as far as Molly could figure out where he was looking through the holes in his mask- had lowered, and following his line of sight quickly showed her why: the fall had shifted one side of her suit off of her shoulder, and the steep plunge of her neckline had moved to the side in response. One bared breast was the result, pink nipple embarrassingly hard, as if in answer to the man’s choking hand on her neck. 

And there was Reaper, staring at it. 

Molly didn’t move, wouldn’t dare, even if just to cover herself; losing his guns had never stopped Reaper from, somehow, acquiring new ones in the past. Instead, she loaded as much defiance into her expression as possible, raised her chin in challenge, and let the man look: “Yeah, my wardrobe has malfunctioned in more ways than one. What’re you gonna do about it?”

‘Oh, this is a good day,’ Reaper growled, seemingly in answer to Molly’s silent question. ‘You’re going to be very, very useful to me, girl…’

There was a clink of metal in motion, a tug at the belt of Molly’s suit, and a familiar glint as a pair of handcuffs came up in Reaper’s free hand. 

Shit.

This costume had… served another purpose the night before, and she must have left some of her kinky supplies attached to herself. Most of the time this was no problem- Molly actually enjoyed the side-eyed glances she got from her fellow agents when the handle of a flogger or a vibrator peeked out of her pockets- but right now? Face to face with one of Overwatch’s most feared enemies? 

Not so much. 

‘Hold still now,’ there was a laugh in Reaper’s voice as he spoke, moments after examining Molly’s cuffs in detail. He brought them down, around first one wrist, then the other, and though Molly’s fingers twitched, she didn’t allow herself to fight back. Not like this, not with Reaper’s Edgey Magic Shotguns always just a moment away. Being bound was, in many ways, better than being shot. Her hands might be pinned above her head, one of Reaper’s hands keeping the chain joining the cuffs flat to the floor, but she was still alive- if with slightly less modesty than she might have liked- and that meant she was waiting for an opportunity. 

‘There’s more than one way to break an agent, girl…’ Growling, the black-clad man removed first one glove, then the other, dark skin below moving with strange fluidity, something clearly very wrong happening to the musculature supporting him. Leaning down, he cupped Molly’s breast, and she gasped, partially from the shock, but also from something else; beneath those bulky clothes, Reaper’s body ran hot, the touch of his skin itself causing actual discomfort to her, not enough to be truly painful, but close enough to the unpleasant tingle of Bad Touching herself that Molly’s hips moved instinctively, shifting with restless, automatic arousal. Her breath caught in her throat, and Molly could practically feel the smirk behind Reaper’s mask as he flicked her nipple idly. 

‘Though perhaps sluts like you enjoy being broken,’ the thought hung in the air, making Molly’s cheeks burn with new shame. How could she be reacting like this? So easily? Defiance flashed in her eyes.

‘I doubt you’ve got much of anything to enjoy, Skullface McEdgemurder. An endless supply of big, meaty ol’ shafts that you pump a few times before they’re spent?’ Molly gave everything she had into her ensuing smirk. ‘I’d say that’s both compensating for something and a sad indictment all wrapped up in one.’

The monster atop her didn’t respond with words, but he did squeeze down on Molly’s throat hard enough to strangle the last word before she could truly finish it, lingering there as she used up her air supply and resorted to gasping, hips still pushing up against the man as his empty-eyed mask stared down at her, conveying nothing. Laughter from behind the mask suggested a thrill at having such power over her, but Molly couldn’t decide whether or not he was simply going to keep squeezing, squeeze the life out of her here, in this dingy locked room on some anonymous battlefield. One less Overwatch agent to worry about. 

Finally allowing her to breathe came as a profound relief to Molly, her first exhale coming out as a sigh, tight muscles relaxing as the warning signs in her body began to die down. Above her, Reaper let his hand lay at her neck just a moment too long, the threat there implicit, before he let it drift down, trailing a line of heat across Molly’s collarbone and down to her bared breast.

‘No, I’m not going to let you go that easily, girl,’ his voice was a rough, hollow scrape. ‘I’ve got big, hard plans for you…’

‘You’re gonna take advantage of a fallen foe?’ Molly cocked an eyebrow, added just a hint of challenge, something for Reaper to rise to, in every sense of the word. Maybe she had a thing for terrifying men, a thing that had been sharpened and defined by the rough manner in which this one touched her, the blazing heat of his skin promising so many interesting sensations, on top of the ones it had already provided her. She wondered whether his cock felt as hot as the rest of him and her cunt, already slick from being bound and straddled, clenched at the thought. ‘Not like I can stop you, so let’s see what you got…’

‘I’m going to enjoy making you regret those words,’ again the terrorist’s mask betrayed nothing, yet his actions spoke loud and clear. Yanking down Molly’s top bared her other breast and most of her abdomen besides, and his strong hands were rather more rough with her belt than was necessary, the buckle bending in his hand as he tore the one thing mooring her outfit together from her, sending it clattering into some dark corner of the room. He pulled down, further and further, stripping Molly’s suit down her legs before letting it dangle around her ankles, keeping her feet obstructed. Precious seconds would be wasted disentangling herself before she could flee now, not that fleeing truly seemed an option, as Reaper planted a knee atop her crumpled outfit, keeping her lower half pinned to the floor. Looming overhead, his shadow cast itself over Molly’s now nude body, pale skin on display, no means of covering herself between her cuffed hands pinned above her, and her legs trapped below.

‘Now, we’ll have to make this quick,’ Reaper growled, and as if to make his point for him, a hail of gunshots could be heard beyond the walls that enclosed them, passing by as though whatever battle they belonged to was still traveling. ‘Active combat zones have such a dearth of foreplay, and I’ve really got to get back out there… oh, but don’t worry. I’ll be sure to keep you nice and secure until I come back… wouldn’t want my pretty little Overwatch toy to get away, when there’s so much fun to be had with Talon…’

So that was his plan; take his pleasure now, then take her back with him for more later… no doubt drip-fed to the rest of Overwatch, enough to send a clear message: mess with Talon, and there’s more things that can happen to you than getting shot. Molly allowed her eyes to widen, but her lips parted in a smile that was all challenge; why had he automatically assumed that Talon would be the winner here? That her Overwatch allies wouldn’t win the day, discover Reaper- perhaps balls deep in Molly himself- and enact some highly entertaining violence upon him.

‘Give it your best shot,’ clenched teeth turned the words into a snarl, as Reaper closed his hand about her throat once more in an attempt to choke her into silence. Behind her visor, Molly’s eyes burned, ‘time’s short, Reyes…’

‘Alright,’ a shrug, a roll of the shoulders, and from the depths of his black costume, Reaper drew out his erection. Molly almost giggled; not from the size, the man was actually quite imposing, but because she hadn’t expected him to already be hard. The infamous terrorist was still a flesh and blood man after all, perhaps a little closer to normal than his cold, hard-edged killer persona would suggest. Her levity was short lived, ripped away with a gasp as the man placed his tip against her entrance without ceremony, dragging her by the hips into a better position for penetration. Molly gasped at the incredible heat of him against her, and the sound just went on and on, as before she could adjust, Reaper pushed inside her, slowly but surely, all the way to the hilt; if she hadn’t already been wet, this would have been far more challenging than it already was. 

He blazed in her. Reaper’s cock was like a heated rod, uncomfortable to the touch yet still stimulating every inch of her wet and pulsing channel. Molly’s mouth remained open in a soundless scream, her mind unable to properly parse the sensations she was feeling, but Reaper wasn’t willing to give her the time to adjust either; grabbing her cuffs with both hands, he dragged her upright, so that instead of lying prone before him, Molly straddled the terrorist’s lap, her thighs forced to hug at his waist simply to keep balance, her arms wrenched up and bent at the elbows as one of Reaper’s hands held the chain of the cuffs behind her head and kept her steady on him at the same time. Molly exhaled, her breath shuddering and jerking with each new movement, a helpless sound laden with arousal. 

Reaper thrust his hips, just once, his cock driving deeper inside her and Molly’s body bouncing in his lap. She cried out in response, her upper body now resting against his as he knelt on the concrete floor, holding her pinioned and using her so, so easily… an agent of Overwatch, disabled in mere moments. Staring into that skull-faced mask, she failed to find any hint of emotion in him, just simple, mechanistic pleasure, coupled with an easy sadism that made Molly’s knees weak. 

Her pussy clenched down around his shaft relentlessly, forcing her to feel every inch of the heat currently pushing inside her, the rough, hard, living heat that twitched with its own pleasure as the man fucked her, rolling his body expertly, so that her helpless self seemed to flow against him, never anything less than full, or empty only for a few moments between rough, full-bodied thrusts. His one free hand roamed Molly’s pale form, at times resting against her thigh, at others rasping a circle around one of her nipples, always moving like a line of fire over her skin. Instinctively flinching away from Reaper’s burning touch was useless- he held her so close, his coat was the only protection Molly had from being pressed against the scalding temperature of his chest- but Molly did so regardless, jerking and writhing, struggling fruitlessly as the terrorist explored her body as he wished. 

That hand eventually came to rest on the curve of her ass, lightly squeezing, the pressure directing Molly to move her own hips against him, if only to relieve herself temporarily from the heat of his palm. She could practically feel the reddened imprint of his fingers on her sensitive skin, but sliding herself forward only pushed Reaper’s erection further into her, that scorching steely hardness probing deeply at her wet, fluctuating walls. Sweat formed easily on Molly’s body, droplets falling down the curve of her spine as she fucked herself on him between both hot points, turning her into a gleaming, whimpering mass of aching skin, sat in the lap of her worst enemy. 

Still…

Heat haze seemed to rise from Reaper at times, the touch of his skin intensifying every sensation that Molly encountered, turned her pussy into a dripping mess, rivulets of her come running down the terrorist’s shaft and staining his pants, the ache of him inside her a terrible counterpoint to the sheer, skillful pleasure of sex with him. The two feelings didn’t clash but mingled, racing up Molly’s spine, colliding explosively whenever Reaper was at his deepest in her, drawing apart when he withdrew, just long enough to make her realize, in a shameful, secret corner of her mind, just how much she yearned for the return of that peak, the moment where agony and ecstasy drew closest together once more, forming a single, gestalt sensation where one was impossible to distinguish from the other. 

The place where pleasure hurt, and pain was the sweetest of ecstasies. 

Molly moaned. She whimpered. She screamed. She fucked herself senseless on Reaper’s cock, pushed herself inexorably toward orgasm, heedless toward climax, uncaring that, beneath his mask, Overwatch’s greatest foe was watching, judging, spurring her on with his red-hot branding touch. And when she finally reached the peak, when her thighs began to tremble and clench down on his burning skin, when her pussy rippled and her clit throbbed, Reaper’s hand raced up to her throat, squeezed hard enough that Molly’s orgasmic scream sputtered out before it could begin, the breath robbed from her right at the moment that it all began. Shaking, pleasure closing around her clit like a clenched fist, Molly’s visor still whirred to life, close enough that the software within could detect Reaper’s increased heart rate, the tenseness in his muscles, rising notably higher than it had been seconds prior, all signs of…

‘My turn.’

If Reaper’s cock was like a hot iron rod, then being filled by his come was like being fucked by magma. Molly gasped to feel it, despite the hand at her throat, and the climax still racing through her body, that blistering heat, liquid and strange, filling her by inches, shot by shot, the tip of his dick twitching with every new burst of his seed. Molly’s hips scythed desperate, confused motions through the air, part an attempt to escape, part borne of desire to feel every moment of this, to ride every wave of it down to the core of her, forcing his length in and out of her sore, needy hole as her oxygen-starved brain cried out for more. 

Wide-eyed, Molly watched that blank mask, and listened to Reaper laugh, victorious as she climaxed atop him. 

When he was finished with her, Reaper tossed the girl to one side, leaving her to gasp and shake on the concrete as he collected himself. Her body still burned with the trace heat of his touch, and it was all Molly could do to keep herself breathing, her throat still hurting, eyes watering as she watched Reaper straighten out his clothes. Catching her breath, Molly forced herself upright, onto her knees.

‘Hey Reaper?’ She panted, unsteadily.

‘What?’ The terrorist growled.

‘Bad Touch.’

Suddenly, one hand was free, the aperture at the center of her glove bursting to crackling electrical life. Molly slammed it into the side of Reaper’s head, throwing the man off his balance and sending him sprawling to the opposite side of the room. Springing to her feet, she grinned, catlike, his simmering come dripping down her thigh.

‘What kind of camgirl would I be if I didn’t know how to get out of my own cuffs, eh?’ She said, bouncing on her heels. ‘Thanks for the fun, but that was awfully naughty of you, so you know…’ and it was here that Molly bent down and wrapped her gloved fingers around his cock. ‘Bad Touch.’

Reaper howled.

‘Bitch!’ There was a flurry of black smoke, and the man was gone. Molly took a moment to breathe deeply, before she slowly pulled her suit back on, piece by piece. She giggled to herself, wandering over to one unassuming corner of the room and, more specifically, the tiny hidden camera that she had placed there earlier in the day, before the battle had truly gotten started. 

‘Hey guys, hope you all enjoyed that,’ she purred, adopting as sensual a voice as she could muster, speaking directly to her subscribers on the other side, who got access to exclusive live shows for what Molly thought was a very modest monetary commitment. Of course, she had also recorded every moment for, ahem, posterity, if nothing else. ‘Many thanks to… oh, let’s call him a guest star, the terrifying Reaper! And if I have anything to say about it, that’s just step one. I’ve joined Overwatch, so we’ll see how many of them will join me.’

Winking, Molly twisted the lens and switched off the stream, her mind already preparing for the flurry of requests that would even now be filling her inbox: _Do Genji!_

_Oh, McCree next!_

_Can you get Zarya to sit on your face?_

It truly would never end, now that she’d opened this particular can of worms. Not that Molly particularly minded: such things were a real golden goose, quite apart from just how damned fun it seemed to try and seduce her way through Overwatch’s ranks. Compared to Reaper, the others would be positively easy.

All she had to do, was reach out and try…

Activating her headset, Molly called out over Overwatch’s open frequency for help getting out of the room and back to work; regardless of how well the rest of the festivities had gone, she hadn’t expected Reaper to twist the damn handles together. She was trapped, but somebody would be along soon, she was sure. 

After all, there was still so much to do.

To be continued.


End file.
